


mind my wicked words (and tipsy topsy smirk)

by tousled



Category: DreamWorks Dragons (Cartoon), How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: Astrid POV, Broken nose, Character Study, F/M, First Kiss, Flirting, Mutual Pining, Not Canon Compliant, One sided Hiccstrid, Set in RTTE, blood mention, rtte
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:22:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24840745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tousled/pseuds/tousled
Summary: There are several constants in the world, Hiccup is stubborn muttonhead, Vikings like fighting, the sun will probably come up tomorrow, and Astrid isstrong.
Relationships: Astrid Hofferson/Tuffnut Thorston, onesided Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III/Astrid Hofferson
Comments: 15
Kudos: 18
Collections: HTTYD RarePair Bingo





	1. (looking back around) glamourise the chaos

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spacenintendogs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacenintendogs/gifts).



> Happy (belated) Birthday Rose! Sorry this wasn't finished in time but it's turning into a beast! I hope you like it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I do not know when I'll finished chapter two :) 
> 
> mini playlist for this fic:  
> divide by bastille  
> gooey by glass animals 
> 
> Also this fits the "awkward misunderstandings" tile of my HTTYD Rare Pair Bingo! 
> 
> If you're here because of the onesided Hiccup/Astrid tag, and you don't want to read a break up/rejection fic for hiccstrid, this isn't the fic for you. It is endgame tuffstrid, and the hiccstrid is onesided.

It’s almost midnight when Astrid hears a shaky breath, the creak of the first step to the lookout echoing in the night. She picks up her axe, rolling it in her hands and tucking her feet under herself, ready to jump into a standing position. The moon light is bright enough Astrid can see easily, but if they come up from behind the lookout there’s plenty of blind spots. There's another shaky breath, something like a sniff that’s holding back a snotty, broken sob and Astrid lowers her axe. 

“Tuff?” Astrid calls out, sure enough in who it is she risks letting whoever it could be know she’s there. 

“No.” He says. A moment later his red cheeked gave peeks over the edge of the lookout. 

“You okay?” She asks, and Tuff stares at her for a long moment, more than shadow under his eyes, before he shakes his head. 

He doesn’t say anything more, climbing up into the lookout alongside Astrid. He settles into the back, curled up uncomfortably and wraps his arms around his knees. He hiccups, a sad little noise that sounds like it’s trying to hide the depth of the sorrow caught up in his chest. 

“You want to talk about it?” Astrid asks, looking away, but out across the beach to the south of The Edge and she hears Tuff’s shrug against the wood. Astrid lets it lie, it could be a lot of things. She doesn’t have much more comfort to give than the wooden walls of the lookout do. 

“No.” He says eventually. He wouldn’t have walked out here in the middle of the night, darkness and moonlit shadows creeping in on him if he didn’t  _ need  _ something. 

“Okay.” Astrid agrees. Tuff sobs a little into his knees and Astrid looks down at her axe. She might not be a comforting shoulder, or a listening ear but she can be the protection he’s obviously looking for. 

She  _ can  _ protect him. 

  
  


**** 

  
  


The day’s scouting mission does not go to plan. Hiccup’s plans involving the Dragon Hunters rarely do - they should be used to it by now. 

It has been a week since Tuff climbed into the lookout and cried, protected behind Astrid’s axe and Astrid thinks of it as she’s saddling Stormfly. The next day Tuff had been his normal bubbly, nonsensical self and didn’t even give Astrid a non-normal funny look. She files the moment under  _ something we don’t talk about _ , and that pile of memories has been getting quite big since the Siege of The Edge. 

“Well, this didn’t go to plan,” Fishlegs says. Astrid feels anger at Hiccup’s lack of foresight and thought bubbling up in her chest and it’s only the fact her mouth is full of blood that she doesn’t snap. She’s cut her lip, nose bloody and possibly broken and she barely even wants to  _ think  _ about it. It doesn’t sting as much as the resounding defeat, stranded on this island. 

“There was a plan?” Tuff asks, half a laugh in his voice, looking towards Astrid like when he thinks he’s being very funny and whatever the rest of the punchline was going to be just dissolves. 

“Hiccup is such a dunghead.” Snotlout agrees, and Astrid would too, but perhaps not like an eight year old swearing if she didn’t need to hold her head back, blood tacky between her fingers. 

Hiccup is no ordinary viking, and for the most part they’ve learnt this is an incredible, wonderful, freeing thing, but it also means he doesn’t understand  _ viking things _ . He looks at Viggo’s ploys like it’s a Maces and Talons game and yes, it’s a game of strategy but it’s still a  _ game _ . When you knock over the pieces in real life, it’s a real person, a real  _ life.  _ When your time is spent looking down and moving game pieces you forget to look up, seeing what’s going on in front of your very own nose. 

“Fuck!” Snotlout yells, shaking his fist. He kicks at the beach, a spray of sand flicking up around them. Astrid turns, not wanting to get it in her eyes and to get her back to them so they can’t see her spit out the mouthful of blood. She kicks her own patch of sad, covering up the red. 

“That won’t help,” Fishlegs says, disapprovingly, and Astrid wants to yell too, call them both  _ dung heads,  _ say something mean. She turns back, angry and all she can see is Tuff’s worried expression. 

“Are you okay?” Tuff asks, hands cold as he touches Astrid’s face, gentle. 

“It’s just a bloody nose,” Astrid promises, feeling strangely vulnerable under his searching grey eyes. He doesn’t look comforted; cold fingers against her cheek bone. “it won’t look so bad once we wash the blood away.” 

“Do we have supplies?” Tuff asks, taking his hand back, fingertips smeared. They don’t. They’re dragonless and supplyless on an unknown island with no way of letting anyone else where they are. 

“We should look for a creek or a spring,” Astrid says instead, “if all else fails we can wash in salt water but we’re going to need drinking water.” 

Behind him Snotlout and Fishlegs are still bickering, Snotlout’s hands up in the air, waving wildly, and Fishlegs’ expression taut and mouth tight. One day, he’s going to realise how much bigger he truly is than Snotlout and it’s going to be a dark day for Snotlout’s confidence. For all Fishlegs argues yelling at Hiccup’s imaginary back is a waste of time, he sure spends a lot of breath on defending him. 

“Shut up!” Tuff snaps, “Astrid’s hurt.” 

“It’s fine,” Astrid says when everyone turns to her wide eyed. “Let’s just find some fresh water and somewhere to camp and set ourselves up.” 

“Of course,” Fishlegs says, looking like he’s going to faint. Maybe he will. Astrid glances back out at the ocean, calm waters lapping at the beach just below them. 

“Do you think you two can cooperate for half an hour?” Astrid asks, lifting her hand to cover more of her face, distracting Fishlegs’ pale face and wide eyes from the stark red. 

“Why  _ him? _ ” Snotlout grumps, but he wilts when Astrid sends him a look over the wall of her fingers. “Sure thing. What about Tuff?” 

“What?” Tuff looks up, already cutting the end of his tunic into strips, small paring knife in his hands. 

“Find somewhere to camp in case we have to sleep overnight.” Astrid repeats, firm, Snotlout relenting but grumbling all the way to the tree line. Fishlegs throws a look back their way and Astrid waves, forgetting the blood on her hand and he pales, scuttling off behind Snotlout. 

The blood flow has slowed, clotting against the hand Astrid’s been holding to her face. Her nose feels numb, pain lingering at the edge of her senses. It doubtedly looks worse than it really is, but her nose is probably broken. She’s lucky it’s just the nose, not her eye socket, not her cheekbone. 

She hadn’t expected the move, and the dragon hunter hadn’t even had a helmet on. Head butting her had been out of a sort of desperation she’d not thought the winning side would deploy. The combination of the angle, the sharp jagged movement and Hiccup out the corner of Astrid’s eye, struggling with his supposed “fire sword” distracting her meant he’d hit with resounding precision.

“Here,” Tuff offers a strip of his tunic, a pile in his hand and the knife gone again. 

“Salt water will be fine,” Astrid decides, taking the fabric strip, pressing it against her face. She turns to the ocean, squatting down to clean off the fabric and then twists out the water, patting around her nose gently, washing the blood off. It doesn’t sting, just a strong brine-y smell and it’s a blessing. When she has to work on her spilt lip it’ll be another story. 

“Let me,” Tuff offers, kneeling, another piece of fabric in his hand and Astrid turns her face, letting Tuff’s gentle fingers hold her chin steady as he concentrates on cleaning up the smeared blood. 

It’s hard letting go of her face, fingers reflexively want to keep holding on, like maybe her face will crumple apart without it. It’s silly, and she lets Tuff coax each finger to uncurl and pull away. It’s just a bloody lip and a broken nose, nothing every viking in existence hasn’t seen before. They’ve seen things worse than this before, blood and gore and  _ burns _ . It’s just, she doesn’t want to look weak. 

(If she looks weak, what does that mean for all those quiet nights, Tuff seeking her out for protection, expecting her to be able to stand there with an axe and  _ win?  _ He’d known Heather was a spy, just because he couldn’t stand to think Astrid could lose a fight, that it wasn’t  _ possible _ . 

If she’s not strong, what is she?)

“It’s broken, isn’t it?” Astrid asks, Tuff’s face giving himself away even if he wasn't going to tell her the truth anyway. He’s too truthful for his own good, in the roll of his shoulders and in between his brows and the curve of his mouth.

“Yeah.” Tuff chews his lip, clearly rolling what he wants to say around in his head, picking it apart. 

“Okay.” Astrid says. She has broken her nose before, and her arm, which was arguably worse because she wasn’t allowed to train with a broken arm. It’s not a big deal. 

“It looks like shit,” Tuff agrees, “like no wonder Fishlegs was ready to empty his guts.” 

“Okay, okay,” Astrid laughs, pushing him. “We get it. I’m hideous now. A real swamp monster.” 

“Disgusting,” Tuff agrees, a fake somberness to his voice that has Astrid laughing even more. He smiles, gentle and raises the damp clean tunic rag to wipe at the now exposed part of Astrid’s face. It takes several cleanings of the fabric until he looks satisfied, brushing dry flakes from the top of Astrid’s nose. “you need to clean your lip too.” 

“Not looking forward to it,” Astrid says, but then holds her fabric up to her mouth, salt stinging against the wound as Tuff cleans her other hand, wiping between her fingers. She’s also discovered her knuckles are all busted up too, hands stinging with the salt water. 

“It looks better,” Tuff offers, easy. He still looks pinched, uncomfortable. 

“It needs to be set, yeah?” Astrid knows, her shock and anger all worn off from sitting calmly and the gentle movement of the cool fabric. She can feel it’s not right, not just the swelling and being where they are it’s going to set crooked but they can fix it a little. “You need to set it.” 

“I can’t,” Tuff says, but in the end he does. They should have gotten Astrid to bite down on something, a leather arm band or her kransken, but it’s too late now, biting into her split lip in surprise. 

It starts a new rush of blood, pain overwhelming her senses but, as Astrid reflexively flings her hand up it feels better under her fingers. Tuff holds up another cleaned tunic strip and Astrid takes it, holding it up to her nose. He is quiet and kind, and far too good at playing nurse. 

No one else says anything, and she’s not sure if it’s because they don’t notice, or they don’t get it, but the twins are suspiciously good at tending wounds. Fishlegs spends hours in books, pouring over medicinal plants and has done some minor learning alongside Gothi, but the first ones to hand a bandage or know how to set bones are the twins. Fishlegs might get faint at blood, and Snotlout acts like a splinter might kill him, but they’re  _ Vikings.  _ The twins just shut and and carry on. If Astrid thinks about it too long it makes her angry enough to see red. 

“It does look better.” Tuff says, swapping the tunic piece for another cleaned one. 

“It’s going to look like shit once the bruise comes through,” Astrid adds, half a laugh in her voice. Last time she got a black eye Hiccup couldn’t look her in the face for  _ days.  _ It had made her angry at the time, hurting and dismissed, but now it’s just funny. 

“Bruises are cool,” Tuff says, half defensive, perhaps remembering the same memory. He also pokes his bruises and winces in pain and then pokes them again, so he’s not really one to talk. 

“You  _ would  _ think that.” Astrid laughs. She reaches out to punch him gently in the arm, Tuff squawks, side stepping Astrid’s hand. She’s so thankful that if they really had to be defeated by a bunch of dragon hunters and dumped on some unknown island it was with Tuff. 

“You’re my hero,” Astrid says after a long moment of silence. It’s a joke, a promise. It’s the truth, in a way. If she’s going to look weak, broken nose and bloody face -  _ shut up, Astrid’s  _ hurt - she might as well make the moment worthwhile. 

Tuff goes pink. It feels like even more of the truth now, raw like the swelling around her nose, like a fresh bruise, a broken heart. And they stand there, looking at each other, wild haired and tired, blood trickling from Astrid’s nose. They look  _ terrible _ , they look wonderful, alive. Astrid feels like she’s gnashing her teeth against the throat of life itself, wild and reckless. Too much in everything about herself, and yet, not enough outside this moment, where she’s  _ just  _ right. 

Snotlout ruins it. 

“We found some caves!” He yells, hands cupped around his hands. He and Fishlegs traipse across the beach, hands full of kindling 

“There’s a river to the east,” Fishlegs adds, pointedly not looking at Astrid’s face and instead stares at her boots. “It’s fresh, we saw fish and tadpoles. Do you have canteens?” 

“There’s  _ frogs?”  _ Tuff asks, excited. 

“We’re going to have to find something to collect water.” Astrid shrugs, if the river is close to the caves canteens may not be necessary. “let’s go see the frogs.” 

They spend the afternoon setting up a camp inside a shallow cave, overhang providing protection from a north south wind that blows in early evening. Snotlout stumbles upon a rabbit warren, quite literally, and Astrid fashions a spear to catch them dinner in the streams. Tuff catches three frogs and one incredibly warty toad that makes Snotlout squeal when he brings it close. For several tender hours the afternoon feels like a cheerful, silly break from all their responsibilities if not for the throbbing of Astrid’s nose. Fishlegs even calms down enough to get his journal out and starts sketching a couple of ferns by the river’s edge. 

The cave is homely, a much bigger than necessary firepit already set up. Astrid unwinds her makeshift bag, laying the gutted trout down on the material instead of the cave floor. Perhaps, they’re just used to it, a fire big enough for seven or eight or even nine to sit around. Perhaps Snotlout is overcompensating. For one terrible moment Astrid thinks of joking about making some of Tuff’s scare-dragons as stand ins for the others, but keeps it between her teeth. Knowing them, they’d actually do it, and then waking up in the middle of the night would be a fright, human-like figure in the shadows. 

“No dragons?” She asks, turning to eye the back of the cave. It dips away, the rest in shadow and in a moment, once the fire is started she might try and check it out with a makeshift torch. 

“It doesn’t go much further.” Fishlegs says. He holds his journal out, a messy sketch of a cave system on a page next to a drawing of some long legged bug. 

“Is that thing in here?” Astrid asks, impressed. If Snotlout finds out it is, they're going to get a scream. She’s debating on whether or not to let Tuff know too. 

“Of course not,” Fishlegs says, voice pitched too high and he winks exaggeratedly. 

After the trout and before the rabbits they’d found a meadow and piles of grass aren’t going to do  _ that  _ much but it’ll get them off the cave floor. The reeds by the waterways where Tuff had triumphantly showed off his frogs were wide and flat and when Astrid sat, keeping an eye on the trout, Tuff had woven mats. They’d washed their helmets and used them for water, and when Snotlout returned from bathing he sat down next to Tuff and watched patiently, following along. Astrid is not a part of the sewing club, nor has any particular desire to be, but it’s nice to see the boys, quiet and contemplating, working together to make something. Usually it’s darning socks and patching shirts, but perhaps on The Edge in the future they’ll start making woven bowls. 

Fishlegs doesn’t finish working on his journal until the trout is almost done, so he only starts the basics, big enough for weaving to make a serving platter. He makes them wait before eating, the fish steaming hot out of the fire. Astrid was careful, only catching enough to feed the four of them, but it’s now, bellies full that an uncomfortable silence falls over them. They need a plan, some way to let the others know what’s happened to them. To talk about the resounding defeat by the dragon hunters, of what  _ happened.  _

“How long do you think we’re going to be on this island?” Fishlegs asks, and looks away when Astrid looks up from where she’s poking the fire with a stick. 

“Until Hiccup realises we’re missing.” Snotlout interrupts, “however  _ long  _ that will take.” 

“When Ruff manages to steal a dragon.” Astrid replies. Hiccup is probably thinking of the singetails Viggo has trapped and hasn’t even thought to stop and see if the rest of them are okay. 

“Ruff will be here in the morning.” Tuff agrees, looking down at his hands. He let the frogs and the toad go, but he looks like he needs something to pet his worries out on. 

“You can’t be sure,” Fishlegs says, soft. He looks at Astrid, and it’s her turn to look away. He can say what he wants, Astrid won’t be responsible for anything that upsets Tuff. He believes Hiccup will come for them, they’ll put their faith in Ruff. 

“Yeah, of course I can. Stormfly is tracker class. She and Ruff will find us.” Tuff says, sharp. No one disagrees; Astrid’s sure Fishlegs doesn’t breathe for a whole minute. 

“We could make a beacon.” Snotlout suggests, surprisingly level headed. When they all look at him he frowns. “What? I have good ideas.” 

“And if the dragon hunters see it?” Astrid asks. “We’re basically sitting ducks, without escape and not knowing the island well. Anyone got weapons to fight them off?” 

“It has to be something only Hiccup, Ruff or Heather would understand.” Fishlegs muses. He puts his chin in his hands, thinking. When they finally return to The Edge that’ll be something they have to properly organise. 

“We could use a code,” Tuff offers, “you know, like dots and dashes. That’ll look random and not like a secret message at all.” 

“What does that even  _ mean.”  _ Snotlout whines, but shuts up quickly to take the next bit of cooked trout easily enough. 

“Ruff’ll know, won’t she?” Astrid asks, and Tuff turns, an earnest expression on his face. Astrid nods. “Easy, Tuff sets out the message to Ruff first thing tomorrow. We’ll need to work out where to put it.” 

“The beach, probably.” Fishlegs agrees, shaking his head when Astrid offers another bit of fish. Happily Tuff takes it, scoffing it down. “It’s the first piece of land you see and it’s a wide open space.” 

A plan in place settles something in Astrid’s gut, even if it’s completely dependent on someone knowing where they might be. The conversation turns light, Snotlout’s wingmaiden updates and Tuff’s Berserker gossip. Astrid eats the last of the fish herself, watching the shadows of the flames dance across the figure of her friends. Her face smarts, her nose aching and zygomatic arch stinging. She tries to ignore it, stretching out on the grass and reed bed the boys put together for her. 

Tuff gets up early, or maybe he was too worried about the dark creeping in to even sleep at all, and puts out a set of stones. They mean nothing, no pattern Astrid can tell, almost random in a way that looks natural. Tuff is pleased though, dusting his hands off like it’s a job well done and spends the rest of the morning letting Astrid teach him how to spear fish. 

Ruff is on the beach late afternoon, Barf and Belch rushingTuff when they see him. Heather is off to one side, morose until she sees the gang and then she smiles with relief. Astrid steps up to hug her, and hug Stormfly, cooing softly and petting her, and ignores the fact that Hiccup’s not there. 

“You guys okay?” Heather asks, looking Astrid over, fingers hovering over the swelling of Astrid’s nose, the touch dissimilar to Tuff’s. After a moment, Astrid shrugging at her questioning look, she moves on to check over Fishlegs. 

“They’re idiots.” Ruff snorts, but she throws her arms bodily around her brother and squeezes him tight. “How did you even end up here?” 

“Leak in the boat.” Tuff says, muffled into Ruff’s shoulder, “they were distracted.” 

“Leak in the boat,” Ruff scoffs, she lets go of Tuff to look at the others, scrutinising them. “What the fuck happened to your  _ face? _ ” 

“What do you mean?” Astrid jokes, Ruff  _ saw  _ what happened, “it always looks like this.” 

“That’s true,” Ruff shrugs. Still, when they’re back on The Edge she’ll look it over, Tuff nervously offering words of explanation, of comfort, of how he had steeled his nerves and set it. 

“I’m tired of his place,” Snotlout offers, looking at them funny, “let’s go home.” 

“Where’s Hiccup?” Fishlegs asks, getting up behind Heather on Windshear. He sounds quiet, reserved and Astrid wants to smooth it over, isn’t sure she wants Fishlegs to become jaded about it like the rest of them. 

“Dunno.” Ruff shrugs. When they landed she and Barf and Belch looked harried, under control. She looks much the same now, but more brittle, like exhaustion is going to set in, like that question just made it worse. “Jerking off?” 

“Gross.” Astrid says. She offers a hand to help Snotlout up behind her, wondering 

“He’s just,” Heather starts, and she doesn’t need to finish her sentence for them to know, “building Toothless another tail fin. In the fight he damaged the other one and had to make his own house emergency landing.” 

Hiccup has a whole wall in the club house full of tail fins for Toothless; he has one spare in his satchel. There’s one in everyone’s satchels, just in case. The idea that Toothless might be more of a target, or downed, because of his tail fin is too much of a risk to worry about. Skulking around Outkast Island when they were kids was a lifelong lesson; always be prepared to fix Toothless’ tail fin. 

“Honestly kind of preferred Ruff’s answer.” Snotlout says into Astrid’s shoulder half way back to The Edge. 

“Does it make a difference?” Astrid asks, and they sit in the feeling all the way back. Astrid tries not to think about it, focusing on Stormfly’s strong wingbeats and the magnesium warmth under Stormfly’s skin, and even Snotlout pressed into Astrid’s back to protect himself from the wind. She pointedly does  _ not  _ think about how they are less important than building another tail fin. 

(And  _ why  _ exactly does that still hurt? Aren’t they used to it? How long will it take for them to be desensitised to it?) 

  
  
  


**** 

  
  


Astrid is on self mandated guard duty again when she hears the creek of the ladder. She peers over the edge, ready to duck back, and isn’t surprised when it’s Tuff climbing the rickety ladder, brows furrowed with concentration. She sits back up and waits for him, unfolding her legs to hook them over the side instead. 

“Aren’t Smidvarg and the Gang on this?” Tuff asks, panting as he crawls over the lip of the lookout. 

“Maybe.” Astrid agrees. She’s pretty sure the night terrors are actually napping, but there’s a lot more of them and they scatter when something spooks them. 

“So why are you here? Did the dragon hunters send a threatening message?” Tuff settles in next to her, not dangling his legs over the edge just in case, crossing them so his knee falls into Astrid’s lap. 

“No, they didn’t. Don’t worry about things like that.” Astrid says. She knows he does, a million reckless thoughts swirling around in his brain. 

“Is there going to be another dragon migration?” Tuff presses, digging his elbow into his legs and perching his chin on his hand. He looks up at Astrid through his eyelashes, a dizzying kind of flirtatious if only he knew what he was doing. 

“No.” Astrid says, “I don’t know. I’m not expecting a migration particularly. I think only the fireworms would be a real issue.” 

“They’re surprisingly hard to milk, too.” Tuff agrees, startling a laugh out of Astrid. She’d almost forgotten, half a lifetime ago, back on Berk when Snotlout had worked Hookfang too hard. She remembers the bands she 

“Yeah, that was very sweet of you, but don’t do it again.” Astrid lays a hand on the knee that’s on her’s. He’s warm under her palm, and it’s a lot. 

“If it’s not dragon hunters, or a dangerous migration, and Smidvarg is already on guard duty, then why are you here?” Tuff presses. 

The truth is, her nose still smarts and although the bruise is yellowing Hiccup still won’t look her in the face, and instead of making her feel uncomfortable it makes her  _ angry.  _ Once upon a time all Astrid had was her anger, a boiling, bubbling pit of pain and ferocity and sometimes Hiccup makes her feel like that’s all she will always be. The broken nose and the black eye are a sign of failure, and it makes her sick to think about how she’s not as good a defender as she thought but that's not Hiccup’s problem. 

“I’m just bored.” Astrid says. It’s half the truth. She’s bored of Hiccup looking away every time she steps in the room, bored of the stricken expression he’d had, a mimicry of Ruff’s  _ what happened to your face _ ? Except with none of Ruff’s genuineness. Bored having to feel and think about that failed fight with the dragon hunters. 

“You can come to the sewing club, if you want.” Tuff offers immediately, smiling brightly. 

“Thanks, but I’d rather strangle myself than do embroidery.” Astrid smiles back, soft, “besides, I wouldn’t want to intrude on boy talk.” 

“You’re not intruding!” Tuff says, affronted and maybe he feels that way but she knows Snotlout and Fishlegs appreciate the time. 

“I am a little.” She pats his knee. It’s okay, she doesn’t want to darn socks anyway. 

“Ruff and I were going to go buffalord tipping,” Tuff suggests. He holds out his hands, counting off his fingers, “and Snotlout was going to do a fly with Dagur and Gustav tomorrow, you could join in with that? Or maybe when Fishlegs does this week’s bread making? I don’t think Heather has anything planned, she’s probably up for a spar.” 

“I’m not going to interrupt Thorston Sibling time, either.” Astrid laughs, shifting to look at Tuff properly without twisting her body. He’s got braids behind his ears, pieces of loose hair curling around his face. “Thanks for the suggestions, I’m okay, really.” 

Tuff looks at her, and he doesn’t really look like he believes her at all, but he shrugs, slumping. He looks away again, back out over the forest below and drops a hand to his leg, fingers brushing Astrid’s. Astrid bumps his hand, and he turns to look at his knee, and back up at her, like he can’t make up his mind what to scrutinise, eyes wandering around until he finds a thread he can pick at until it unravels. 

“You don’t have to be strong all the time,” Tuff says. He sounds like he’d laugh, if not 

“I do.” Astrid disagrees, knocking her shoulder into Tuff’s. He turns, half a quirk of a smile on his lips, and Astrid feels so fond, “who else is going to protect you?” 

Astrid expects him to laugh or bump her shoulder back, sharing the joke, not acknowledging the truth. Instead, he blinks, expression blank except for the pink of his cheeks and Astrid’s breath gets caught up in her throat wondering what he’s going to say. She thinks of him, curled up in a different lookout post, sobbing into his knees and he’s never going to not need Astrid to protect him in some way. 

“If you’re bored, you should tell Hiccup his microaggressions are tedious and if he truly valued you as a person he wouldn’t act like a bruise cheapens your worth.” Tuff offers, and Astrid laughs. Finally, a worthwhile hobby. 

“I’m just going to call him a piece of dragon dung on the bottom of my shoe, if that’s okay.” Astrid smiles. Tuff smiles back. “But with more swears.” 

“That’s not got the same pizzazz, but it’s very on brand, so I think it’s acceptable.” Tuff agrees easily. 

“Pizzazz?” Astrid snorts, Tuff holds the hand not touching Astrid’s out and shakes it, fingers splayed, Astrid laughing at the movement. “What’s  _ that?”  _

“Pizzazzz.” He repeats, shaking his hand again and Astrid laughs again, reaching out to hold the hand, stopping its movement before it devolves into carrying on until Astrid has a stitch from laughing. 

“It is pretty grotesque.” Astrid says, soft. She doesn’t mean to but, yellow is not her colour. No one’s spoken about the fight really, except to discuss battle plans. Maybe they’ll think she’d be angry, maybe Tuff’s the only one not scared of her like this. Maybe she’s forgotten the  _ despite herself _ part of it all. 

“It’s pretty cool. That dragon hunter really thought breaking your nose could stop you? He must be a wimp.” Tuff disagrees, although he’s staring at his hand where Astrid’s hand is touching it. 

“You’re too nice for your own good.” Astrid says, although she knows he couldn’t lie to save his skin.

For a moment, she thinks about leaning over and kissing him. The angle would be awful; Tuff’s already half facing her, his knee against her thigh, and they’re close, but she’d have to strain to reach, nowhere to put a hand for balance. Still, after all that uncomfortableness, and possibly nearly falling out of the lookout, it would be worth it. 

“You could whittle,” Tuff says. Astrid blinks. 

“What?” She’s lost, the fantasy of leaning over and stealing the words from Tuff’s mouth still lingering at the edges of her thoughts. He quirks a smile. 

“For a hobby, you could learn to whittle.” Tuff explains, “all you need is a knife, which you have plenty of, and some wood, which? Forest right there.” Tuff accidentally bumps Astrid’s hand as he sweeps his hand out towards the forest in front of them. 

“Yeah,” Astrid says, surprising herself, “I could learn to whittle, I guess.” Tuff beams at her, and oh, that’s probably why she said yes. 

  
  


****

  
  


“Hey,” a voice says from behind Astrid as she’s brushing Stormfly. When they first started living with dragons they only had yak brushes, and most people just let their new found friends participate in dirt baths. Still, there’s something special about spending quiet moments alone with Stormfly that Astrid didn’t want to give us, and now it’s more like shining scales and itching all the hard to reach places. 

“What do you want Hiccup?” Astrid asks, not looking away. She knows it’s Hiccup because the others wouldn’t dare to interrupt her. 

“I was just wondering if you were busy tonight?” Hiccup asks, scuffing his foot loud enough that it wakes Meatlug up in the next stall over. 

“I’ve got a late watch shift.” Astrid says, and Hiccup knows this, he’s the one who helped her put it together. No one else likes doing watch shifts, and well, other than the terrible job she’s doing whittling, it’s her main hobby. 

Hiccup clears his throat and Astrid turns, brush in hand. He looks kind of pale, like he’s sick or that kind of unwell look that comes just before a cold when you know something’s off. Hiccup is the kind of person that catches every single disease and cold, and all of them are quiet used to this kind of pre-sick looks. 

“Are you okay?” Astrid asks, concerned. She puts down the brushes and lets Stormfly push forwards to check on Hiccup first. 

“I’m fine”. Hiccup says, and Astrid doesn’t believe him, putting a hand up to his forehead. It doesn’t feel particularly hot

“You look like shit.” Astrid says, and Hiccup winces, looking away. Only a little of the bruise is lingering under Astrid’s eye and over her nose, but it’s still puffy and swollen around the break, down enough she’s pretty sure she’s going to have a crick in it for the rest of her life. Those few seconds are the longest he’s looked her in the face. 

“Uh, that’s why I’m here.” He shuffles awkwardly and looks back up, “it’s come to my attention I have been a bit rude about the whole black eye situation.” 

“Are you sure you’re not sick?” Astrid asks again, just in case. He probably is. 

“Yeah, I’m sure.” Hiccup sighs, “I just have been focusing a lot on some tail fin designs and time run away from me. I’m not sick.” 

“You’re just sun deprived? That doesn’t really convince me. Have you seen Fishlegs lately? He’s probably the best one to talk to about not getting sick.” Astrid absolutely knows where this conversation is going, she hopes patented Thorston techniques will make it difficult to continue. 

“I’m fine!” Hiccup snaps, and then takes a really deep breath, calming himself. “Astrid, I’m sorry for how my actions have been hurtful, and I didn’t mean to make the insinuation that my avoidance of you was due to your black eye, it’s just my guilt that’s eating me up - I should have been more organised before instigating the fight with the dragon hunters that day.” 

“Is that exactly what Tuff told you to say? Like did you memorise it word for word?” Astrid demands, hands on her hips. 

“I - what?” Hiccup stammers and Astrid takes a threatening step forward.

“If you think I can’t recognise a Tuffnut Thorston Pep Talk when I hear one, you don’t know a thing about me.” Astrid continues, speaking over Hiccup when he starts an unconvincing explanation. “Did you even feel bad until Tuff explained anything to you?” 

“I don’t - I am sorry.” Hiccup says, loud enough that it almost echoes in the stable and all of a sudden Astrid doesn’t feel as angry. She is a boiling, bubbling lava pit of a person, and that might be all she ever is. 

“Thanks.” She says. She turns, picking up Stormfly’s brush again, and patting Stormfly’s flank. Even with the raised voices Stormfly had just watched, head quirked. Astrid brings it back up the scales on the back of Stormfly’s neck, getting right between two spikes where it’s hard to reach. 

Astrid spends several focused minutes on that spot before moving onto another, similarly located and equally difficult for Stormfly to scratch. The problem with being a dragon full of loaded spikes is that there’s lots of difficulty reaching between them to get an itch. Sure, Astrid’s seen many dragons use a tree trunk, especially something with a rougher bark, but why bother when you’ve got your own personal human to find all the spots. Stormfly croons and pushes her flank closer, happy chirps under all the attention. 

“Astrid?” Hiccup asks, and Astrid nearly throws the brush at him. He was so quiet, she thought he’s gotten the hint and left. 

“You’re still here?” Astrid bites back, stops herself from saying something meaner. Even in his apology Tuff wrote him he couldn’t bring himself to express concern for the broken nose. He didn’t even understand it wasn’t about a broken nose at all. 

“So it’s a no on the being free later thing?” Hiccup asks, voice going up an octave at the end like he already knows the answer and Astrid really does throw the brush at him. 

“If you don’t leave now I will set Stormfly on you.” Astrid snaps, and it doesn’t sound like a particularly terrifying threat, but lately Stormfly’s gotten very big into fetch and it’s not something to trifle with. Hiccup nods, awkward, and almost trips over himself to leave.

Astrid steps over to where he was standing and picks up the brush. She turns the brush over in her hand, hoping none of the bristles are dented and thinks about how much annoying it must have taken to get Hiccup to take Tuff seriously. That’s a lot of effort on Tuff’s part, just to get Hiccup to give a plausible explanation to something he’s not even aware he’s supposed to. He can’t be expected to know what Astrid’s feeling about this, she doesn’t know either. 

She spends more time than necessary on Stormfly, scratching every possible itch, buffing and shining her scales. Stormfly preens under the attention, happily stretching her wings out so Astrid can carefully check them, making sure there’s no rips in the membrane. She’s in perfect health, which is no surprise, but still, Astrid pays attention to everything, not a single detail lost on her. 

  
  


****

  
  


Whittling is incredibly relaxing, surprisingly. The idea of making something scares Astrid, of not getting it right first go, too much pressure to be perfect and so she just whittles pieces of wood into fine wood chips until she starts to understand how the grain works and how the knife glides or stops, choppy. It’s soothing like cleaning her axe blade is, motions to keep her hands moving, but far more portable. 

Tuff gifts her a whittling knife, smiling as Astrid unwraps it. It’s small, blade incredibly shape and bent slightly away to make cutting through softwood like butter. It’s very good quality, something that would take a lot of saving up to trade for at the Northern Markets. 

“This is too much,” Astrid says, but Tuff shakes his head. 

“Nothing’s too much for you.” He grins and Astrid wraps him up in a hug. It’s not even her birthday. 

The first thing she  _ makes  _ is a spoon, something that looks simple until she needs to carve out the middle. Still, watching it change from a twig to something roughly imitating the last spare spoon Snotlout breaks during a particularly raucous breakfast is, in a strange way, exhilarating. All too soon it’s almost done, the centre not quite deep enough and Astrid saves up her own money to buy a speciality knife, blade curved and specific for digging out inside of spaces. 

No one particularly notices when they have enough spoons to go around, and a few spare for when Dagur and Gustav visit. But the first time Tuff picks up one of the new spoons, he looks up, staring across the clubhouse to ask Astrid with his eyes. They’ve all seen her whittling; Snotlout’s confused questions and Fishlegs asking for the wood shavings, but now it feels like a secret. 

She starts on knife handles, on other utensils, a bigger piece of wood to carve into a little statuette of Chicken as a thank you gift for Tuff. He was right in his roundabout way, even if it hadn’t even been about needing a hobby in the end. Astrid needed something else to do. 

  
  
  


**** 

  
  


It is almost midnight, and a sense of déjà vu settles into Astrid’s stomach as she hears a shaky breath and the creak of the lookout ladder. It is not a dragon hunter, or some unknown enemy sneaking up on them, it’s Tuff. He peeks up over the edge, tears brimming in his eyes and ready for Astrid to swing her axe. 

“Come on up,” Astrid says, offering her hand and Tuff sniffs, reaching out for it. 

He doesn’t say anything, curling up into the space behind Astrid in front of the lookout wall. He drops his helmet with a clatter, it bouncing for a moment and a horn catching on Astrid’s axe. He tucks himself in, choking back a sob and presses his face between her shoulder blades, shoulder against her back. 

In a terrible, horrible way it makes Astrid feel  _ good.  _ The bruise is almost gone, lingering at the corner of her eye, up the side of where her nose is now crooked, but this is the first time Tuff’s come looking for a protector. He doesn’t ask, day to day, pushing himself into her business, but she knows he appreciates her strength. Still, it’s one thing to know, and another to be truly  _ needed.  _

“Today when you and Ruff were on guard duty Snotlout tried one of Fishlegs’ herbal remedies for a stomach ache, and the expression he made drinking it was hilarious.” Astrid says into the dark, her breath coming out in little puffs of fog, “I know Ruff would have thought it beyond funny.” 

“Yeah?” Tuff hiccups, not quite finished crying but Astrid won’t say anything to draw attention to it. 

“Yeah,” she says, continuing the story. “Do you remember that yellow coloured fruit Trader Johan brought once that made everyone's faces screw up? It was like five times that, Snotlout looked like he’d shriveled up like a dried berry.” 

Tuff sniffles a laugh, something small but real and Astrid takes it as a win. She lets the quiet roll back in, focusing out on the beach in front of her, the lapping of the waves against the sand. Tuff curls up tighter, pressing closer to Astrid’s back and cries. 

“Did it help his stomach ache?” Tuff asks, sometime later, after he was quiet for so long Astrid was sure he was asleep. 

“He stopped complaining about it.” Astrid says, although she’s not sure. Maybe Snotlout just had something else to grump and groan over, so he forgot all about it.

“Hmm,” Tuff says, a sleepy tone hiding a yawn, “that’s good.” 

“Yeah, it is.” Astrid says as Tuff properly settles down. She’s not sure it’s really comfortable, the angle must be awkward pressed between wooden beams and Astrid’s back. Her tunic is slightly damp now too, tears like sea spray on her shoulders. Tuff doesn’t complain, cheek against a shoulder blade and lets the sounds of the night and the knowledge Astrid is ready for anything soothe him to sleep. 

  
  
  


****

  
  
  


Although Hiccup complains the whole way to intercept a shipment of dragon harnesses, they follow Heather’s attack plan, and it’s Heather’s plan that takes only half an hour to pull off completely. Sure, there’s still a few mishaps - the normal kind of gang shenanigans that make everyday life a mess - but, no one is injured, or falls off their dragon or gets shot with a dragon root arrow. It’s a resounding  _ success.  _

“Wow,” Astrid says, mostly to herself and Stormfly, a pannier full of leather either side of her, “that  _ worked! _ ” 

“Of course it did!” Heather yells, grinning and it’s catching, Astrid grinning too big too. 

“And no one’s hurt?” Astrid calls back, amazed. Heather laughs, something none of them are used to and Astrid 

“What are we doing with all this leather?” Snotlout calls out, giddy with the question like he can’t believe it went so well too. Astrid wants to yell, to whoop so loud it echoes in her lungs; she wants to shake the adrenaline out of her system, take on some more dragon hunters, have the gang race back to The Edge. 

“Belts?” Tuff calls back, “shoes? Arm cuffs? Kranskens? A really nice pair of gloves?” 

“Saddles.” Hiccup says, although not half as excited as the rest of them and when Astrid turns to look at his dour expression her mood dips. 

Heather has dealt with dragon hunters much longer than the rest of them, and Hiccup might have been wedgied by Dagur a few times wnd gone on a fake night fury hunt, he’s not devoted  _ years  _ to thinking about fighting him. If Heather’s plans failed it was  _ just  _ Heather in the firing zone, Heather that got hurt. She learnt very quickly how to attack and get away with it - and having six more fighters hasn't changed that. Hiccup just has to look at black eyes he finds distasteful when he gets wrapped up in his own private war. They really should listen to Heather more. 

Astrid throws a glare Hiccup’s way, knowing it’ll glance off him, but hoping it makes a dent away. It sits in her own stomach, weighing down her precious excitement and really, she should have known better than to expect anything else from him. It’s too much sometimes, to see an angry, self-involved man when there once was a boy who changed their world. She flies back mostly in silence, Stormfly warm under her hand, and the gang excitedly chattering around her, yelling into the wind, words lost. 

They’re still in good spirits when they reach The Edge, cheerful laughter as they unbuckle saddles and refresh their dragons in the stables. Astrid lets it wash over her, even Heather’s voice bright and happy as they all unload the satchels and bags, leather thumping against the wood. She unbuckles Stormfly’s saddle carefully, her own panniers of the harnesses already in the pile, and checks over the scales, making sure none are hurt in anyway. They never are, but it’s worth it to check and Stormfly preens under the attention, churring happily. The others move on out, dragons following behind them and Astrid looks up as Fishlegs, arm in Heather’s, excitedly talks about a species that they’d freed they didn't recognise. 

“Astrid?” Hiccup asks. The stable door swings shut behind Ruffnut, their happy noises disappearing behind the wood. 

“Yes?” She looks up and he still looks sour, too serious. She wants whatever this conversation less than the last one they had in the stables, at least she knew how it was going to go. 

“I was wondering if you were free tonight?” Hiccup scuffs the bottom of Stormfly’s stable door, a grating noise that sets Astrid on edge and makes Stormfly jump. 

“I’ve got sentry duty,” Astrid says, but then she stops half way through picking up a scrap of leather, “actually, no I am free.” 

“Oh, great.” Hiccup smiles and Astrid’s charmed. It takes years of worry and preoccupation off his face; he looks like the boy who  _ promised  _ her that actually, dragons weren’t that bad. 

“What did you want to do?” Astrid prods, unsure of the point of this.

“Like I thought we could hang out, just the two of us.” Hiccup shrugs, the opposite of nonchalant. 

“Sure.” She agrees, pocketing the piece of leather. She can use it to make a sheath for her whittling knife. “See you after dinner?” 

“Great!” Hiccup smiles. “See you then.” 

Astrid nods, neatly side stepping him to get around him where he’s standing right in the way of the Stormfly’s stable door. Stormfly is not so polite, barreling into Hiccup, demanding attention. Snickering Astrid leaves him too it, awkward conversation hanging in the air. She pushes the stable door open, fresh air rushing in on her like maybe it was getting stale between them. 

Tuff is waiting four paces away from the stable door, hands behind his back. He looks like he was listening in, pretending not to be close, pretending he hasn’t had his ear pressed up to the door. He might not have. 

“Did he ask you?” Astrid asks, brushing past knowing Tuff will follow her along behind her to the clubhouse like a baby duckling. 

“What?” Tuff says, frown obvious in his voice. 

“Hiccup, I mean. Did he ask you the right thing to say?” Astrid stops, turning half back to Tuff, the exact frown she was imagining crinkled between his brows. 

“For what?” He looks genuinely confused, nose all scrunched up and brows pulled so tight together. 

“You know, I know you bullied him into apologising for the whole broken nose debacle.” Astrid changes track. She didn’t call him out for it earlier, back when Hiccup had said  _ guilty  _ and still wouldn’t look at the swelling around the crick in her nose. 

“I would  _ never  _ bully anyone.” Tuff says, easy, smooth and Astrid reaches out for him. 

“Of course not. But I know you’re the one who made him feel bad about it, even if Hiccup didn’t understand why we were annoyed.” Astrid wraps an arm around Tuff’s shoulder, starting walking to the clubhouse again, encouraging Tuff to move too. 

“He’s just stubborn,” Tuff agrees, “sometimes he needs someone else to explain himself to him.”

“You’re the most ridiculous person I know,” Astrid says, squeezing Tuff’s shoulder. She doesn’t follow it up with anything, not sure how to finish the sentence. He is the most ridiculous person, but he makes more sense than anyone else here and even if Hiccup and his fake apologises, and his hypocrisy makes her want to throw something sharp, the idea that she’s worth annoying Hiccup to that point is intoxifying. She squeezes Tuff’s shoulders again. 

There’s smoked trout and poached eggs ready when they make it to the clubhouse; celebratory food on plates. Astrid helps herself to the trout on bread, a buttery sauce Heather says she learnt from some traders for her eggs and Fishlegs brings out some preserved berries for sweets. Hiccup joins them as Snotlout brings out some mead, not even reprimanding them, taking an offered glass. Ruff raises her glass, a toast to Heather’s plan and to Hiccup not criticising merriment and they throw the first one back, honeyed liquid coating Astrid’s tongue. 

There’s a few drinks, Astrid stops after three, but Snotlout opens another bottle and it’s probably a mistake. Why they have so much mead on The Edge, she doesn’t know, but leaves her glass when it gets topped up again. It is much longer until Hiccup creeps up, standing awkwardly to Astrid’s side. 

“Hey, you wanna go for a walk?” Hiccup asks, touching Astrid’s elbow and honestly, she doesn’t right now, interested in Fishlegs’ explanation of a three pronged defensive structure but she did promise.

“Sure thing.” Astrid says, “uh, ‘Legs we should finish this conversation later.” 

“Breakfast?” Fishlegs asks, smiling easily. Astrid nods her agreement and follows Hiccup out the clubhouse, Snotlout wolf whistling at them as they leave. 

It’s not a particularly cold night, but stepping out into the night air after the heat of the clubhouse, of everyone close and happy and a little buzzed, red cheeks it seeps in quickly. Astrid shivers, and Hiccup looks positively frozen but he just offers a grin and heads off towards the forest. The forest isn’t really a good idea so Astrid reaches out and snags his arm for a moment, directing the walk to stay out in the open where she can keep an eye out easily. 

They walk for about five minutes, coolness no longer bothersome as she’s gotten used to it, and then Hiccup stops suddenly. He turns, rocking on the ball of his foot, looking like he’s nearly going to topple over as he does it. 

“So.” Hiccup says, voice warm and Astrid wishes she knew where he thought the conversation was going to go. 

“So.” She repeats. He doesn’t look like he feels as awkward as Astrid does, like maybe he has a few too many glasses of mead, like Snotlout shouldn’t have opened a second bottle. 

“So,” Hiccup grins. 

“So what?” Astrid prompts, Hiccup’s happy buzzed expression drops. 

“It’s just,” Hiccup says vaguely, making weird hand gestures and pointing between them. A moment later he steps closer, 

“Just  _ what _ ?” Astrid asks, thoroughly confused by all the waggling of hands and thrown by what that’s supposed to mean. It kind of looks like he’s lost control of the movement and Astrid steps closer, her own hand up to try to check his temperature. 

“Just,” Hiccup says and then throws his hands up, stepping close and kisses her. 

It is awkward, Hiccup is a head shorter and he closes his eyes and sort of half misses and Astrid’s hand is up, really to see if Hiccup’s running a fever. Her palm bumps against his shoulder and she pushes, a little too rough and she doesn’t realise until Hiccup goes stumbling back, hand out to catch himself. 

“Uh.” Hiccup says, wobbling a little as he takes another step back. 

“What was that?” Astrid asks, she reaches out properly to check Hiccup’s temperature. He’s piping hot under her hand, but his cheeks are bright red and he definitely had way too much mead. 

“It was a kiss?” Hiccup tries, shrugging like it’s no big deal. It is a big deal. 

“I mean,” Astrid starts and she doesn’t know what she means. In one way, she guesses it was always going to end up like this, but in another she had hoped it wouldn’t. “Why?” 

“You’re beautiful.” Hiccup replies immediately. Astrid waits, but it just settles in the air between them. Hiccup looks up when Astrid doesn’t reply, doesn’t thank him, and blinks. “We get on so well. And you’re like a perfect viking, we make a perfect match. We have so much in common.”

“This is the only thing we’ve talked about all night.” Astrid says, not unkindly. Just moments ago she overpowered him with a shocked push. She has never felt less like she has anything in common with Hiccup, even a pre-dragons Hiccup who she’d despised for his privilege and mucking around during raids. 

“No it isn’t,” Hiccup disagrees, “we talk about lots of things like dragons, and attack plans.” 

“The whole gang talks about those things.” Astrid reminds him, dread and confusing clawing up her throat. Does he not feel the awkwardness in the air when he stands there expecting something from Astrid she isn’t sure of? 

“Yeah but it’s different, it’s special, you know?” Hiccup replies, taking a deep breath. He opens his mouth and out pours something he’s very clearly been keeping inside, words dripping over his bottom lip, all choked up. It’s a lot. It’s too much. 

“I’m sorry,” Astrid says, speaking over him, “I don’t feel that way about you.” 

Hiccup stops dead, hands out in explanation of something, wide sweep of his arm. His hand drops, listless at his side and Astrid stares at the twitch of his fingers, unconscious movements jerky, until he clears his throat. 

“Oh, okay.” He says. 

Astrid doesn’t know what else to say. It is only the truth. She wonders if it’s her fault, but when she casts her mind back she doesn’t really remember a time on The Edge where they didn’t feel prickly and a bad fit. Something about being here, the fight with the dragon hunters, being in  _ charge  _ has soured him. Maybe he hadn’t realised, maybe he’d thought it was like they were fourteen still and Astrid couldn’t believe he wouldn’t kill a dragon. 

“I think you need to go to bed.” Astrid says, careful, but still breaking the moment like it’s glass. She reaches out to help him, still unsettled on his legs, putting pressure down on the fake one unevenly. 

“Don’t touch me.” Hiccup snaps. Astrid drops her hand, but still helps him back to his hut. It’ll give her nightmares if she doesn’t, thinking about him upset and unsteady, wandering around in the dark. There’s a lot of rickety wooden platforms and long drops on The Edge. 

“Drink some water,” Astrid says, opening the door to his hut and Hiccup sniffs, silent the whole way there. “Sleep the mead off.” 

“Good night.” He says, sharply, pulling out of Astrid’s grip, shutting the door in Astrid’s face. 

“Besides,” Astrid says to the door, feeling suddenly angry, staring at a shadow playing over the grain of the wooden door. “You can’t even  _ look  _ at me when I have a black eye. What does being beautiful have to do with anything?”

  
  


****

  
  


“Good morning heartbreaker.” Tuff says, cheerful, sitting down next to Astrid on the cliff edge, but doesn’t put his legs out over the side like Astrid has. He drops a bowl of gruel into Astrid’s lap, a smiley face drawn out in honey. 

“I have eaten,” Astrid says, taking the spoon away and handing over the piece of wood she was whittling and her knife. Tuff takes it with another grin, flipping the knife around in his hand. 

“Does two apples count?” He muses, “I don’t think two apples count as breakfast. I think that’s a snack.” 

Astrid was still angry, even after she’d stared at Hiccup’s door for several minutes, hoping he’d  _ feel  _ her anger like a fire through the wood. He hadn’t and she’d gone back to the celebrations, Snotlout slurring a very fake retelling of the events like they weren’t all there and she’d sat by Fishlegs as they laughed merrily. She was angry when she woke up in the morning, and she hadn’t wanted to sit in the clubhouse with a bunch of hangover grumps, and whatever mood Hiccup was going to be in.

“Thanks for the gruel.” Astrid says. She really did need more food after running laps this morning and some basic strength training, but she hadn’t seen everyone leave for their chores and wasn’t going to chance the club room. 

“You’re welcome.” Tuff replies, holding up the stick Astrid had been turning into wood chips, shaking it and Astrid shrugs. He turns his immediate attention to the stick, hacking at it with her whittling knife. That’s not whittling, but he looks happy so she just eats her gruel. 

“I was going to go berry picking later.” She says, putting the empty bowl to the side. 

“Oh cool,” Tuff says, not looking up from his ‘whittling’, “that’s my job for the morning too!” 

It really isn’t. He and Ruffnut were supposed to reset a couple of the log traps they set off accidentally the other day, and it should, in theory, take them hours, knowing their forethought when it comes to traps. Still, Astrid doesn’t disagree. There hasn’t been a single dragon with a rider in the air, so it’s likely no one else is doing their chores. 

When Tuff’s finished turning the stick into a mess of splinter-worthy shards and blunted Astrid’s whittling knife Astrid gets up, dusting herself off. She offers her hand, pulling Tuff up and they detour past the eastern stream to wash out Astrid’s bowl before heading towards the wild cloudberry patch. The first flush of fruit is ready, golden amber in colour and Astrid picks one to eat, flavour bursting on her tongue. 

“Heartbreaker, huh?” Astrid fishes after several quiet minutes, her bowl already half full as she tries to find the ripest berries. “Hiccup had a lot to say?”

“Hiccup always has a lot to say.” Tuff shrugs, half the berries he’s picking into the bowl, the other half in his mouth. “Don’t lick a poisonous newt Tuffnut, don’t try to pay the wild timberjack, don’t eat those red fruit they’re probably bad for you, why are you not doing your chores? Tuffnut, I asked you  _ not  _ to let the exotic bleeding heart dove go, and definitely don’t pretend to be a bush again and make Fishlegs faint when you try to scare him. Especially don’t set fire to a bag of dragon poop and leave it on my doorstep!” 

“I’m serious,” Astrid laughs, and then does a double take, “you set some dragon poop on fire?” 

“Yeah, it’s a classic.” Tuff stops, handful of cloudberries almost spilling over his fingers, “you know, set fire to it and then they step on it, trying to put it out!” 

Astrid tries to imagine it, Hiccup’s expression as he realises he’s been had, the twins obviously laughing uproariously not too far away. They would give themselves away. She’s glad they’d never tried that one on her, but they probably valued their own lives more than laughing at Astrid. A smart choice. She definitely would have hung them from the peak of their huts by their britches, at the very  _ least.  _

“So what did he say, then?” Astrid prompts. 

“No one would believe what a gossip you are.” Tuff says breezily, dropping half the cloudberries. They should have brought more than the single bowl with them. 

“Unless you were eavesdropping,”Astrid muses, it’s entirely a possibility, “I bet you didn’t tell him to say  _ so  _ a million times though. Was he paying you to help him work out what to say?” 

“No.” Tuff shrugs, shuttering off for a second. And then, “That would be  _ weird.  _ He’s just, not nice sometimes. He forgets. I wanted him to be nice to you - you deserve it.” 

“Oh,” Astrid says. Sometimes, even after spending hours and days and years with Tuff his genuineness floors her. Sometimes she gets so caught up with Hiccup and his chief speech, she forgets what it sounds like to talk to someone who’s only going to bend the truth to lie about a bucket of eels balancing on the top of a door. It's refreshing. “Thanks.” 

“If you think everyone’s not a little in love you somehow, you’re very mistaken.” Tuff shrugs. He stops trying to gather berries for the others, just picking them to eat and Astrid watches his deft hand movements as she tries to process what he just said. 

“Right.” Astrid says. That feels like a confession, it feels like too much, all at once. It settles between them, daring Astrid to do something with it, another example of his easy frankness. 

Tuff continues eating cloudberries like nothing of particular note has been said. Perhaps, it’s just a very normal train of thought to anyone who isn’t Astrid. She looks down at her bowlful of berries, not enough room for a single more, and isn’t sure what to say. He still hasn’t told her what Hiccup had said at breakfast, and maybe it’s not important anyway. It doesn’t matter what  _ he  _ thinks. 

“Even Snotlout?” Astrid asks, and when Tuff looks up he splutters into laughter at her expression, “because I don’t know if I could stand that.” 

“ _ Especially  _ Snotlout,” Tuff laughs, teasing. When Astrid feints towards him he screams with laughter, dumping his handful of cloudberries into the end of his tunic, upturned to hold them, and taking off into the forest. 

“You better be lying!” Astrid yells, dropping her bowlful of cloudberries, taking off after him. 


	2. (wanna take a chance)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY INTERNATIONAL TUFFSTRID DAY!
> 
> Also, ahhhhh I FINALLY finished this chapter!!!! I hope you enjoy your very belated Entire birthday fic Rose. 
> 
> Reminder, the Hiccstrid tag is for one-sided Hiccstrid, and this fic is endgame Tuffstrid. If you're here for fluffy happy Hiccstrid, this is not the fic for you. I hope you find what you're looking to read elsewhere! This fic is Astrid introspection and tuffstrid :) 
> 
> Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoy it!

Heather is the one who tells her about Hiccup’s grumpy rant. Astrid avoids the clubhouse for three days, dutifully doing her chores and sitting up in the lookout towers, and misses it all but Heather, laughing, recounts it over a late lunch a week later. Apparently Hiccup was still a little drunk the next morning, grumbling into his breakfast and waving his hands erratically. 

“And then he made a face like he was constipated!” Ruff adds, dumping a basket of fish on the table. She sits next to Astrid, leaning into the table with both her arms to look across at Heather. 

“Really?” Astrid snorts. Heather hasn’t really gone into the details, broad in an intentional way and after Tuff was dancing around the topic it’s probably best that way. 

“I’ve never seen him look so put out.” Ruff sniggers, turning back to look at the basket of fish, hand over her mouth. “I wish I’d been a fly on the wall when your conversation happened.” 

Astrid thinks back to it, Hiccup’s smiling face as he repeated so over and over like Astrid was supposed to be on the same page. He’d thought it would all fall together with any effort on his part at all, Astrid’s friendship a sign of deep and devoted love. She hadn’t been on the same page at all. 

“It was awkward.” Astrid says. Ruff perks up 

“Go on.” She prompts, rolling her hand in a motion that suggests continuation. Heather snorts on Astrid’s other side, and she’s fondly rolling her eyes when Astrid looks at her. 

“You don’t have to.” Heather adds, smiling kindly. They all heard Hiccup’s opinion, drunken and mean and hurting. They might as well know what Astrid felt. 

“He kept looking at me like he expected me to know what he was thinking. He was just standing there, repeating the word so over and over like I knew what was going to happen.” Astrid recounts. “I had no idea what he wanted to talk about.” 

“Really?” Heather asks, concerned, but she’s drowned out by Ruff’s laughter. 

“He stood there like a dummy, bleating out words instead of, I don’t know? Talking?” She asks, breathless, amused. Astrid looks at her quizzically. It’s funny, but it’s not  _ that  _ funny. 

“I thought he might have had too much to drink.” Astrid shrugs and Ruff bursts into laughter again. 

Astrid looks at Ruff, hand on her knee, bent over with her laughter and it’s contagious. Maybe it is that funny, Astrid standing there not knowing what to expect, Hiccup expecting the world. She smothers a laugh behind a cough, looking back at Heather’s kind expression. 

“He thought we were on the same page - that it wasn’t a surprise when he tried to kiss me.” She offers, unsure. Ruff snorts, a deep intake of breath that sounds like it hurts. “I had to tell him I’m just not that into him.” 

“That must have been hard.” Heather says, rubbing Astrid’s shoulder and it really, really hadn’t. The hardest thing had been not knowing if it was Astrid’s fault Hiccup looked at her that way. 

“Freya!” Ruff exclaims, gasping for breath. “This is better than a dramatic retelling of the fucking hammerhead yak story.” 

“Hammerhead yak?” Heather asks, and Ruff stops. She takes a deep breath, and then peers around Astrid. 

“You’re telling me you don’t know Gobber’s hammerhead yak story?” Ruff demands. Of course Heather doesn’t, she probably hasn’t even seen a Boneknapper. 

Astrid looks at Heather, shaking her head and making stop motions but Ruff’s already geared up and ready to go. 

  
  


****

  
  


“Hey,” Astrid says, reaching out to grab Tuff’s arm as he passes. He stops, looking down at Astrid’s hand and then up at her face. 

“Hey,” he smiles. 

“I’ve got something for you.” She offers, tugging his arm and easily pulls him along towards her hut. He easily steps into pace with Astrid. 

“For  _ me? _ ” He enquires, like perhaps no one has ever given him a present before. Maybe no one has. 

“Yeah,” Astrid says. It’s a thank you, for a lot of things. For getting Astrid into whittling, for needing her to be strong, for telling Hiccup to appreciate her more, for  _ everything.  _ She doesn’t know how to say it - that’s why she’s carved the little statuette of Chicken. 

“I hope it’s a medium to medium-large dragon of the strike class variety.” He replies, not missing a beat. Puzzled expression from a moment ago gone. 

“It’s not quite as good as that.” She snorts, squeezing his arm. “I’m sorry to disappoint.” 

“You’ve never disappointed me.” He says, disarmingly. Astrid misses her next step, stumbling for a moment. 

When Astrid arrives at her hut, Tuff stops, eyes darting around, looking confused. She squeezes his arm again, smoothing her fingers over the soft skin. He looks at her, right through her, and Astrid thinks about leaning over and kissing him and saying that was the present the whole time. 

“Uh.” He scratches the back of his neck, “you don’t have to give me a present.” 

“Shut up.” Astrid says. Of course she does. She pushes the door open and tugs him inside. 

The Chicken statuette is on her work bench amongst pieces of timber she’s picked up from walks, and sticks Tuff’s given her and ugly knot of wood Fishlegs found in his garden. At the northern markets they sell planks of timber from all over the archipelago for house building. When they stop in for supplies Astrid runs her hands over the wood, looking at the grain, but doesn’t buy any when she knows there’s plenty of broken pieces on The Edge. The piece she carved Chicken from is a spare bit of mahogany Astrid spent too much coin on from a furniture builder, but she’d spent a lot of time practicing on pieces of firewood first. 

“Here,” she says, reaching over rolls of parchment and bundles of sticks to pick the Chicken statuette up. It’s solid, enough weight behind it to knock someone out if needed. It took a long time before Astrid was happy with the way the feathers looked, borrowing one of Fishlegs’ magnifying panes to see the detail. 

“Oh,” Tuff breathes, awed, reaching out for the little statue. He takes it in his hands like it’s made of crystal, delicate and breakable, and not a lump of wood, hardly breathing as he runs his hands over it. 

The emotion is too much, Astrid can’t barely stand it. She’s good enough to make spoons and knife handles but the statuette is a little crude, her knife too big for such fine detail. It’s been finished a few days, a happy pleased feeling sitting low in her gut but now she’s looking at it in Tuff’s hands it feels like not enough, like she’s not enough. 

“It’s amazing, I love it!” Tuff says, throwing his arms around Astrid, drawing her in for a hug. Awkward Astrid lifts her hands and hugs him back, pulling him closer and getting his hair all up in her face in a way that’s kind of uncomfortable but she doesn’t mind. 

“You’re welcome.” She says, unsure what else to say. Tuff squeezes her tight for one more long moment and lets go, and really, Astrid sort of doesn’t want to. 

“It’s so cool!” He enthuses, holding up the Chicken statuette to show it off like Astrid hasn’t spent long hours looking at it. “It looks just like Chicken. She’s going to be so impressed.” 

“I’m sure.” Astrid says, a little stilted. She hasn’t really considered what Chicken would think. Tuff grins up at her, so big and bright it’s almost too much to look at. Astrid smiles back, 

“I can’t believe you  _ made  _ this for me?” He breathes out, the words all rushed. “No one has ever given me such a nice present, and one they  _ made. _ That’s like, extra special.”

He means it genuinely, his excitement thick in his throat, eyes teary but it makes Astrid feel bad. Tuff, with absolutely no hesitation, bought Astrid a whittling knife on the smallest whim he had because he cared about Astrid having a hobby, about her needing something to do. And maybe no one has ever thought to do the same thing for him - or any type of present. 

“I’m glad you like it.” Astrid replies, hopeless, unsure how else to reply. Tuff grins again, fireworm bright. He throws his arms around Astrid’s shoulders again, pulling her in for another hug. 

“I love it so much, thank you, you’re the best.” He says, words tumbling out his mouth. 

  
  


****

Snotlout’s whooping into the wind, hands thrown up in the air as Astrid steadies herself against Stormfly’s neck, heart in their throat. The yelling is premature, Fishlegs and Heather aren’t back yet, but Astrid can feel her own joy, her own excitement bubbling up in her chest too. Winning - actually, genuinely winning without an unnecessary cost - is starting to feel like a norm, a buzz of adrenaline they’re getting used to. 

Windshear comes streaking out of the final explosion; one of the dragon hunter’s canons bursting upon impact of molten rock, the gunpowder exploding. Heather joins them, circling around Hiccup to yell something Astrid can’t hear, holding up a satchel with an egg. A moment later Fishlegs and Meatlug join them, 

“Unbeatable!” Snotlout yells, pumping his fist. Astrid gives in to ridiculousness and joins in, grinning at the others as they grin back, high on the feeling. 

“Back to The Edge gang.” Hiccup yells back, waving his own hand around in a similar manner to Snotlout, but it obviously has some kind of meaning as Fishlegs immediately turns back. He hasn’t bothered to teach anyone else, so they all ignore him. 

Still, after several moments of celebration, yelling voices lost to the air they follow. Astrid directs Stormfly to settle in next to Windshear, Heather yelling into the wind, brandishing the rescued egg like it’s a badge of honour. Astrid shouts back, yell wordless and bright and Heather throws her hands up again, smiling so bright it’s blinding. 

When Astrid turns, looking at everyone, even Hiccup, it’s to a sea of happiness. Snotlout is still carrying on, words lost, hands wild, and Tuff, is clearly yelling back, mouth all teeth as he smiles around whatever droll response that has Ruff laughing. Fishlegs is in deep conversation with Hiccup, Meatlug hovering just above Toothless’ powerful wingbeats and this time, even Hiccup is smiling. Fishlegs has a satchel too, and there’s probably more eggs, and they  _ really  _ pulled this all off. 

Instead of landing when they reach the edge, Astrid taps Stormfly’s neck, unsure if she feels the jitters too. Last time - when they had celebrated into the night, joyous at their first non-injury causing mission in weeks, months, and Astrid had walked Hiccup back to his hut, hand hovering as he tripped, as he spat acid - last time did no go well for Astrid. She doesn’t want to land. Stormfly doesn’t either, but that’s mostly because they were back up for the plan and weren’t really involved in the fighting, adrenaline still wild and fiery in her veins. Heather looks up from letting Hiccup take the egg and the satchel, sees Astrid’s hesitance and waves her on with a careful flick of her hand. Not one to look a gift yak in the mouth Astrid takes the dismissal and directs Stormfly to fly up and over The Edge, out onto the patrol route. 

After following it several times, lapping the island, checking all the coves, Astrid rolls her shoulders, sitting back and lets Stormfly take her own path. She takes the air currents, tilting the angle of her wings to let them carry her, soaring over the Edge in a route that’s not too dissimilar from the patrol, but catches the updraft over the western cliffs and soars over the forest close enough Astrid could reach out and snap branches off. 

“It won’t be the same this time, will it girl?” Astrid asks, even though she knows Stormfly has no idea, simply chirping at the questioning tone in Astrid’s voice. Astrid lays back, resting along Stormfly’s back and _ trusts  _ her. “Things are different now, yeah?”

Eventually, when the sun is low and Stormfly is slowing down, they come into roost. The stable doors are still open, Hookfang lazing in the way, soaking up the last rays of sunlight. Astrid scratches him under the chin, patting over his warm scales as she passes and gets out Stormfly’s brush to spend a few more moments in her company. There’s a bucket of fish ready in Stormfly’s stall, and she happily tucks in whilst Astrid brushes her, buffing her scales, scratching all the hard to reach spots until Stormfly’s ready to roost, eyes closing. 

The dragons settled, and her own stomach rumbling, Astrid finds herself out of reasons to not go eat. She could go to bed, her muscles ache and her chest feels heavy, but a bowl of warm mutton and a slice or two of yesterday’s bread sound will warm her up inside, stop the grumbling. The others are feasting, a stew over the fire, mead on the table. Heather is laughing at something Ruff’s said, and Snotlout complaining, voice loud - and Hiccup is bent over Fishlegs’ notebook, sketching with quick strokes of his charcoal and doesn’t even look up when the door shuts. 

Tuff is looking though, and he grins when he sees it is Astrid, like maybe he wasn’t sure she was going to show and takes his knee off the bench he clearly saved for her.

  
  


**** 

Hiccup is passive aggressively explaining a new defense flight pattern to Astrid when Ruff pops up out of nowhere. Hiccup squeals, halfway through explaining that for some very important reason Stormfly actually needs to be as far away from Toothless as possible. It’s the third leave me alone speech Hiccup’s given this week and Astrid honestly gets it. Still, Ruff stops to stare at him, smothering a laugh at his squeal, and when he continues on about how everyone else has to be between himself and Astrid she just gives him a look. 

“We need to have a talk.” Ruff interrupts. She grabs Astrid’s arm, pulling her along. Astrid makes a show of being dragged off, even though Ruff could hardly drag her if Astrid didn’t want to be dragged off. 

“Thanks.” Astrid smiles when they’re far away enough away that Hiccup can no longer hear. Ruff rolls her eyes and keeps walking, fingers digging into Astrid’s upper arm. 

“Here’s the rules,” Ruff states, voice thick and expression very serious. Astrid has no idea where this is going to go. “One, you better not be under absolutely no circumstances leading Tuff on, and if for any reason you change your mind about this you let him  _ immediately  _ know it’s not his fault. Two, at least one compliment per day, this sounds ridiculous I know, but most importantly you really have to be a defense against unnecessary criticism. I don’t trust your judgement on what counts as unnecessary so the compliments come into play until you can fathom it correctly, yeah?” 

“Woah, what?” Astrid feels a clawing sense of dread curling up her throat and she chokes on it. Does Ruff think she led Hiccup  _ on?  _

“Shut up, these are important and I’m not repeating them.” Ruff snaps. “Three, no jokes about Chicken or Macey. Absolutely no jokes about Barf and Belch, this includes anything regarding mean about two-headed dragons, of having to have two riders for one dragon and every variation there of.” 

“I didn’t lead Hiccup on.” Astrid breathes out. It sounds shaky, timid and unsure to Astrid’s own ears, she’s not sure how anyone else could believe her. 

“What?” Ruff says, eyes wide. 

“I said, I didn’t lead Hiccup on.” This time Astrid’s voice is steadier, but it still kind of sounds like she doesn’t know if it’s the truth. After the whole girl talk Astrid spent a night in Heather’s hut asking, worrying, wondering if she’d done something to make Hiccup think otherwise. Heather certainly thought there was  _ something  _ there between but she’d promised there was no leading on. Astrid hadn't done anything wrong. 

“Well yeah.” Ruff shrugs. “I mean, only a moron thinks they’ve got a chance if a girl kisses them and then declares she’s never ever going to kiss anyone on the lips ever again.” 

“I - you really think I’d lead someone on, though?” Astrid asks. More importantly, Ruff thinks she’d lead Tuff on. Astrid feels sick. 

“Would you?” Ruff peers at her like she’s trying to figure Astrid out. 

“That’s not the question Ruff,” Astrid replies, trying not to shift awkwardly under those eyes. On Berk the twins had acted dumb, saying even dumber things, and it was easy to not feel like they were peeling back all the layers of insecurity and grime. On The Edge they don’t hold back. 

On The Edge, it was supposed to be different for Astrid too. She’s not sure it is - or maybe it wouldn’t be if Tuff didn’t come up into the lookouts to curl up behind Astrid, seeking the feeling of being protected, suggesting Astrid’s good enough as herself. If Tuff didn’t give her that whittling knife, or held her face to look at her broken nose and help set it, to look at her, bruised and bloodied and not shy away. If he hadn’t spent time out of his day annoying Hiccup into apologising, thinking Astrid deserved better enough to coach Hiccup into saying the right words. On The Edge, there’s still time for it to be different. 

“No. I don’t think you would.” Ruff says eventually. She looks uncomfortable, shifting from foot to foot and crossing her arms. “You are too dependable, too truthful. The only reason Hiccup thought something was happening is because he doesn’t understand his own influence. Hiccup has never forgotten what he did, but he doesn’t understand what that means outside of  _ finally  _ impressing Stoick. If you’re not careful, you’d follow Hiccup to the ends of the earth because you’re too damn loyal for your own good.” 

“I.” Astrid starts, but she doesn’t know what to say. She feels watched, vulnerable. Ruff just sliced through everything, and Astrid  _ never  _ thought about it like that before, but. “What the fuck.” 

“You asked what I think.” Ruff shrugs. For a moment she looks like she’s going to start develing back into her list of rules about Tuff. 

“Being loyal isn’t a bad thing.” Astrid defends, unsure how to process the rest of it. 

“I mean, if you’re a Hofferson.” Ruff snorts. Still, she adds “but sure. It’s not the  _ worst  _ thing, and is definitely somewhere there on my rule list. Your loyalty to Tuff is probably the only reason I’m even letting you know the rules instead of letting you find out the hard way.” 

“But?” Astrid prompts. She knows there’s going to be a but. Ruff loves to tell Astrid how she’s wrong. 

“But, if you’re just wielding it around hoping to stumble across something worthwhile in front of the person who took away the original reason for your loyalty eventually you’re just going to believe in everything they say.” Ruff finishes. She immediately curls back up into herself like Astrid’s going to criticise her immediately. Astrid asked for her opinion, even if it was tough to hear. 

Astrid doesn’t know what to think, or say. Is that what Astrid  _ is?  _ Blind loyalty? Why does everyone know who they are except Astrid? 

“You think I made a mistake.” Astrid says. Ruff shrugs. 

“You’ve made a lot of mistakes.” Ruff replies cheerfully. Maybe she’ll never forgive Astrid for who they were as kids. 

“Yeah.” Astrid says. She has - and it doesn’t fill her will the same kind of dread as it used to. 

“Now, you’ve not even  _ asked  _ why I’m reading you your rights, I’m glad we’re on the same page.” Ruff grins, throwing an arm around Astrid’s shoulders and directing her to walk and talk. “On to rule four.” 

  
  


**** 

  
  


It’s nearly time for the shift change, Astrid just getting up from her early evening sleep when there’s a knock on her hut door. Confused, she opens it without considering she’s still in her sleeping clothes, and Tuff opens his mouth, eyes dewy with tears, blinking them back as he looks lost for words. 

“Is this a bad time?” Tuff asks. 

“No?” Astrid asks back, unsure why it would be, but perhaps it is. Maybe he wants a long talk and Astrid is supposed to leave to relieve Snotlout before he can finish. 

“Do you not have guard duty tonight?” Tuff prompts, sniffling a little, trying but failing to discreetly wipe his eyes with a sleeve. 

“Yes, I’m the next shift.” Astrid says. “I should be swapping out with Snotlout in about ten minutes.” 

“Okay.” He says, mouth pursed. 

“Are you okay?” Astrid asks, reaching out to press her hand to Tuff’s forehead, a reflexive action like she’s done it so many times to Hiccup she can’t help it. Tuff ducks, face pink and then rolls his shoulders. 

“Uh?” Tuff starts, tilting his head side to side like he’s not sure if he should tell the truth or an obvious lie. “I just thought you were going to have guard duty.” 

“I am.” Astrid says, confused, smiling. Tuff awkwardly shifts from foot to foot, so Astrid reaches out and takes him by the arm to direct him inside, out of the cold. “Hold on whilst I get ready.” 

“Ah.” He says, taking his arm back awkwardly, hovering on the threshold of the doorway. 

“What’s wrong?” Astrid asks, worried. Tuff shrugs, awkward, hand holding his arm where Astrid’s hand had been several moments before. Perhaps she was too rough, Hiccup’s always rubbing his shoulder and pouting, but it doesn’t look like Tuff’s  _ hurt.  _ He looks like he’s holding his arm absentmindedly. 

“People will talk.” He says, eventually, like maybe it’s a fact he’s certain Astrid doesn’t know. She doesn’t know. 

“People?” Astrid asks, she looks out to as far as the light inside her hut reaches in the dark, but it’s not very far at all. It’s late, everyone else is asleep, and Astrid will have to help ‘Lout back to his hut so she’s certain he won’t fall asleep on the walk. There’s no _ people.  _

“Yeah.” Tuff says, pursing his mouth. “People.” 

“People.” Astrid repeats, shaking her head but leaves Tuff there, half in the doorway, holding the door closed but not shut, like Astrid might disappear completely if he doesn’t tether himself to the idea of her. It’s not until several moments later when Astrid’s folding her sleeping clothes, palm pressing out a wrinkle that she thinks about Tuff’s pink cheeks and  _ people will talk _ that she understands his flustered excuses. She buckles her belts and fixes her shoulder pads and thinks about how warm his skin had been underneath her palm. 

She thinks about if he had let her drag him inside, if there even were people (who? Fishlegs? Heather? An invading Dragon Hunter?) to talk, how she wouldn’t mind at all. They could talk all they like. 

“I’m decent.” She offers, gently opening the door. 

There’s a second of resistance, and then it opens, Tuff is still where Astrid left him, hovering in the doorway like he can’t decide if he’s inside or outside. 

“You’re always decent.” Tuff says, too seriously, clearly off in his own little world before he blinks, looking at her. His mouth opens, the shape of an oh sound without the noise and then flushes, hand scratching nervously at the back of his neck. 

“For you?” Astrid shuts the door to her hut and reaches out to hook the hand not holding her axe in the crook of his elbow, “I can be either.” 

Tuff doesn’t say anything, flushing red in the moonlight. He lets Astrid direct him towards the northern guard tower, quiet except for sniffles, and an awkward little cough like he’s choking on whatever he’s thinking of. 

“Snotlout might be asleep.” Astrid offers, letting go of Tuff’s arm when they reach the guard tower. Tuff nods, still silent, confused expression, still a little testy eyed. “I’ll just walk him back to his hut, make sure he doesn’t fall off one of the board walks.”

“I’ll guard the tower.” Tuff offers back. It’ll be five minutes tops, and at the northern tower it takes more than that to even access to climb the cliff so it’s fine, but Astrid smiles at him. 

Snotlout is not asleep, although just barely. He looks like maybe he had been a few moments ago, but is now sleepily resting his cheek upon a hand, peering down at them. 

“Get down here.” Astrid yells. If she doesn’t have to climb down one handed, arm holding up a dozing Snotlout then she’ll do her best to avoid it. 

“Five more minutes.” Snotlout replies, so Astrid bends down to pick up a stone to throw. Tuff hands her one, already ready and gives her a watery smile, the blush on his cheeks still lingering. Astrid throws the stone, too high so it goes over Snotlout’s head and clatters around the guard tower behind him.

“Alright, alright.” He yells, noisily. He is just as noisily climbing down the ladder, step wobbly and although Astrid steps out of the way she’s ready to catch - or slow a fall at least. When he’s in reach, Astrid steadies him, gripping onto an arm. 

“Come on Jorgensen,” Astrid says, hooking her arm around Snotlout’s shoulders when he steps onto solid ground. 

“I  _ could  _ do a watch all night, you know.” Snotlout says, yawning half way through. “I could stay awake the whole time. I’m doing  _ you  _ a favour.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Astrid says. She turns to Tuff. “You’ll be alright?” She checks. Tuff looks a little pale, still sniffling, like maybe he’s gone through the whole gauntlet of human expressions in the past half hour. Tuff nods, and turns to climb up into the tower. 

“Tuffnut doesn’t even  _ have  _ guard duty.” Snotlout says, watching Tuff clamber up the ladder. He says it like maybe Astrid wasn’t aware, like it’s a personal insult against Snotlout. 

“For the love of Thor please shut up.” Astrid says. 

They’re half way back to Snotlout’s hut when he stops dead, tilting to the side slightly and Astrid pulls him back away from the edge of the boardwalk. It is pretty normal for him, and Astrid waits a moment, expecting him to say something, likely ridiculous but nothing comes blundering out. After another moment or two Astrid prompts him to keep walking and Snotlout does, but then stops dead again only a few steps later. 

“I had a strange dream.” He says when Astrid pokes him. 

“Okay.” Astrid says. She knows not to encourage Snotlout to explain his dream, half the time he makes them up, but the other half involves asking if Astrid believes in finding meaning in them. She does, if the Gods are leaving messages, but she doesn’t want a repeat of the whole prank about Snotlout dying, so she’d rather not. 

“You were there.” Snotlout continues, shaking himself as Astrid directs him again away from the edge with a sharp jolt. 

“Oh great.” Astrid says.

“You kept asking me what Tuff’s favourite flowers were. I didn’t know.” Snotlout continues, either resoundingly ignoring Astrid or taking her comments as encouragement. “And now he’s taking your guard duty. Isn’t that strange?” 

“Taking my guard duty.” Astrid repeats, shaking her head. She tugs his arm again, hoping to keep him moving and away from the drop off. Snotlout snorts, an undignified noise that Astrid cannot discern if he’s agreeing or unsatisfied with Astrid’s mocking response. 

“Why did you want to know what Tuff’s favourite flowers are?” He prompts, trying to stop again. He turns a little, peering at Astrid through the dark like maybe he’ll find out the answer staring at her, like it’s written on her face. Maybe it is. 

“In your dream?” Astrid asks. “I can’t imagine what exactly you think motivates a dream-version of me.” And even if she could, she’d probably be too scared to give it too much thought. In Snotlout’s dreams there are probably pillow fights. 

Snotlout doesn’t reply for a long moment. He lets Astrid prompt him back to walking, docilely heading towards his hut now. They’re almost there, the hulking building coming into view when Snotlout stops again, just for a moment. He doesn’t say anything, not needing a prompting until they’re at the door, turning towards Astrid slightly. 

“It’s wood anemone.” Snotlout says with the surety of someone who’s heard the truth over and over, who would say the same thing on the pain of death. 

“What?” Astrid asks, confused. 

“Tuff’s favourite flower.” Snotlout says. He shrugs his arm out of Astrid’s grip and unlocks the door to his hut. “I don’t know why I didn’t know in the dream, but his favourite flower is the wood anemone.” 

“Okay.” Astrid says. She doesn’t know what else to say. Unfortunately, although Snotlout never has to know, this is actually very useful information. 

“In case you need to know.” He adds, like maybe non-dream Astrid has in fact has asked him, also. Like maybe Astrid does. 

“Thanks.” Astrid says, still a little stupefied. 

“And you know, add a little wild heather, some harebells, and something with a lace-like flower like angelica or elderflower, that’s a real nice bouquet.” Snotlout takes a deep breath and opens his mouth again like he’s going to keep adding things all night. 

“Alright,” Astrid agrees, helplessly, pushing Snotlout into his hut, “thank you for the information. Good night.” 

Snotlout tries to say goodnight in response, and something else about dandelions or hensbane, but Astrid shuts the door. The peaceful night air sinks back into Astrid, only the noise of several crickets to her left and the swing of wings of a disturbed bird or small dragon behind Snotlout’s hut breaking the silence. It’s nice, and knowing even though Snotlout dawdled Astrid doesn’t have to race back as fast as possible back to the guard tower puts a spring in her step. 

Still, it doesn’t mean she doesn’t hurry to return, climbing the rope ladder quickly, missing every second rung. Tuff is curled up in the lookout space, cheek resting on a knee, arms wound around his legs and Astrid’s axe on the floor in front of him. It’s a poor stand in for Astrid, and when he sees her he perks up a little, pushing the axe to the side and Astrid’s heart is thumping so loud in her throat she can’t open her mouth. 

It’s not intentional, she thinks, she scolds herself, but taking the place of her weapon it feels like he’s saying you’re more than  _ that.  _

“Are you really okay?” Astrid asks, settling down into the space next to Tuff. The northern guard tower is big enough to fit a person and a medium sized dragon but Tuff untangles himself to curl up close, dropping his helmet so he can press his face into Astrid’s shoulder blade. 

“I’m fine now.” Tuff says - croaks really. He sounds like he got the tears out before Astrid got back. She reaches back until she can put a hand on his knee awkwardly. Tuff sniffs, holding so still under Astrid’s hand he shakes with the effort until he takes a deep breath and settles. 

“It’s okay, if you’re not, sometimes.” Astrid says, thinking about Snotlout telling her Tuff’s favourite flower, and how every time he’s upset he clambers into a guard tower with Astrid and the big ugly yellow bruise that cradled her eye for weeks. “It’s okay, I’ll protect you.” 

Tuff sobs, pushing himself further into Astrid’s shoulder, gripping at her tunic, fabric fisted in his hands. It’s a dry sob, rattling Astrid’s bones, and she can longer keep her hand on his knee. She turns, his fingers knotting in her tunic and it nearly strangles her but she pulls him into her arms and holds him tight. 

  
  
  


****

  
  


Fishlegs is the first, other than Tuff, to notice the new spoons. He mentions it one morning, haphazardly, getting distracted halfway through the sentiment and leaving the rest of them confused about what he’s talking about. Dismissing it, they go back to their oatmeal and berries, but it’s not until later in the day, when Astrid’s whittling on her lunch break that she understands what Fishlegs had meant. She feels warm, and happy, and takes care on this next one, making sure it’s even and level. 

Several days later, when Fishlegs has come out of the book he was reading and the work he and Hiccup had been focusing on, he blinks, looking at the spoon in his hand thoughtfully.

“Who bought these spoons?” He asks, turning the spoon over in his hands. It’s the spoon Astrid made for him, perfectly level, curve mathematical. 

“They’re on the shopping list for the next time we go to the Northern Markets.” Hiccup says, not looking up from the parchment in front of him. “Snotlout keeps breaking all the spoons.” 

“Hey!” Snotlout squawks, mostly at the tone rather than the accusation. He does break a lot of spoons for some reason. 

“This one is new.” Fishlegs says, firmly. He has fully examined it now, turning it over in his hands. Hiccup looks up, dropping his quill on the page to reach out and have a look at it too. The others start turning their own spoons around, like maybe there’s some kind of secret around 

“Astrid made them.” Tuff says. When everyone looks at her, she shrugs. 

“You made the new spoons?” Fishlegs asks, looking over the table and Hiccup leaning into his space at her. It’s strangely piercing, like maybe Astrid should lie, say she only make the knife handles or kindling. 

“How do you even  _ make  _ spoons?” Snotlout interrupts, frowning. “Like, you just buy new ones.” 

“What did you think I was doing with all those pieces of wood?” Astrid asks. 

“I don’t know, making ‘Legs’ herb garden mulch.” Snotlout shrugs, and whilst that’s not completely untrue, some of it was good wood, expensive, valuable, ornate. 

“Astrid, storm warden, weapons expert, mulch-maker.” Ruffnut snorts. Astrid turns to her, startled into a laugh. A moment later, the 

  
  


****

  
  


“Hey.” Tuff says, sitting down next to Astrid, slightly above her on the grassy knoll, offering her a bowl of loganberries and a couple of small plums that are probably still sour. 

“Hey.” Astrid says, leaning back on her elbow, smiling up at him as she takes one of the plums. It is sour as she bites into it, but it’s juicy, and refreshing and she likes the tart bite of it. It’s how she likes plums best, fond memories of her and Uncle Finn giggling over sneaking behind a wall to not get caught by the orchard owner when they’d help themselves to stone fruit before the birds got to it. They paid the orchard owner in other ways, but there was something special about the thrill of nearly getting caught. 

“It’s a nice afternoon to have off.” He says, pleasantly, like he’s nervous, like he’s going to ramble on to settle himself. Astrid didn’t actually have the afternoon off, but Hiccup and Fishlegs we’re getting stuck into a new map they bought from a trader over lunch and she knew they’d be there all day, pouring over it. 

“Finish your berries,” Astrid says, “I’ve got something to show you.” 

Tuff shares them in the end, prompting Astrid to take the other plum, smiling shyly. She does, and pulls some yak jerky out of her pocket to share too, knowing it’s his favourite the way he knew sour plums where her’s. The nervousness settles, and Tuff talks about all the interesting bugs he saw when he was picking the loganberries, and how Snotlout ate more than he brought back to the club room. 

Their fingers are pink from the juice by the time the bowl is empty, and Astrid pushes up, smearing the grass and dandelions beneath her palm. Tuff looks happy, sprawled on the grassy knoll like he’s ready to have a catnap, surrounded by wildflowers, afternoon sun warm. Still, Astrid will risk ruining this perfect moment for another. 

“Coming?” She asks, holding out her hand and Tuff takes it, letting her pull him up. He looks at the bowl in his spare hand for a minute as Astrid starts to walk, stumbling a little. He doesn’t drop it, obviously deciding it’s worth carrying. Astrid made that bowl, 

“Where are we going?” He asks, squeezing her fingers like he’s about to let go of her hand and Astrid squeezes back.

“Western falls, there’s a little valley.” Astrid says, and Tuff blinks, and then grins brightly at her and falls into step. 

The Edge only has several small waterfalls, but the smallest is the most westernly one, and it’s difficult to get to without a dragon. They had surveyed it once, when first determining if the island was safe, and it had been a little damp and a little cold and Snotlout had wanted to call it Miserable Falls. It had been late winter, and the foliage was big and unmanageable, crowding the space, the ground muddy. It’s spring now, and everything is in flower, the ground solid and when the sun at the right angle it catches the mist from the falls and makes rainbows. 

Without dragons, the only path is a rocky outcrop, but worn now with how many times Astrid’s come to get away from it all and think. She has to let go of his hand, concentrate on where she puts her feet and yell up to Tuff to make sure he listens. At the bottom of the climb she set a couple of pieces of slate into the ground so it’s not slippery, and every time her foot hits it she feels a sense of accomplishment. She looks up, stepping back and calls out instructions Tuff follows without complaint. Once he’s almost at the bottom Astrid reaches up, knowing the step down to the valley is a leap of faith and helps him down. 

“Oh  _ wow. _ ” Tuff breathes. 

Sometimes, Astrid just comes here to sit and whittle, away from the ruckus that is the others, from Hiccup’s little looks and the noise of the dragons squabbling. It’s quiet, just the sounds of the waterfall and the birds chirping in the plants, and the shift of her knife against the wood. She’s surprised the twins haven’t too, but perhaps on The Edge they don’t need a dark soggy place like they did on Berk. 

“It’s so  _ beautiful. _ ” Tuff says, enchanted. They’ve missed the best part of the day, spent too long eating berries and plums and jerky that the rainbows only dance at the top of the waterfall, water drops glittering like gems. Still, Tuff doesn’t know any better, eyes wide as he stares at the crystal clear water, the moss around the edges of the little pond, ferns and snowdrops near the water’s edge. 

“It’s a secret.” Astrid says, and Tuff up looks at her distracted from the mix of creeping bellflower and roundleaved mint amongst patches of valerian. He looks at her with the same wonder he has for the wildflowers, for the arching glimmering water, and it’s almost too much. 

“I won't tell anyone.” He promises, vehemently, and then adds quietly, “well, I’ll probably tell Ruff.” 

“It goes without saying.” Astrid laughs. As long as the sewing club doesn’t intrude, it’s no matter. 

She hopes Snotlout was right about the wood anemone because there’s a great big patch of it just around the bend and she grips Tuff’s elbow to steer him away from a cherry plum tree. There aren’t any cherry plums yet, but if they’re still here in the middle of summer, she might teach everyone how to make her mama’s cherry plum jam. 

“Wood anemones!” Tuff enthuses, shaking Astrid’s arm in his excitement. They’re quiet rare on Berk itself, but this grove is full of them. Perhaps Astrid will collect the seeds when the flowers die down for Fishlegs to grow some. 

“There’s more of them further along too.” Astrid adds, pointing where the valley twists abruptly once more before it peters off. 

“They’re my favourite!” Tuff grins, already bending down to sniff at them, picking the long stems with deft, quick fingers. He gathers a huge bouquet, stopping to look at a little patch of lily of the valley, and wood forget-me-note. Astrid helps, and then when Tuff stops to laze in the dappled shade of a tree, untwisting braids to add the stems to his hair she helps. 

They’ve been braiding flowers into the ends of Tuff’s hair for nearly an hour, and the sun is just dipping below the lowest point of the valley. It’s sending out streaks of warm yellow light, filtered through the birch tree they’re sitting under so it’s dappled, patterns playing over Tuff’s face. He’s turned it up to the sun, catching the last few rays and his eyes are closed. He looks peaceful, content, happy. Astrid is too, happy to stare at the freckles over the bridge of his nose and the criss-cross of the shadows of his eyelashes. 

The sun finally dips down, the last of the light around them just the warmth of the blue sky and Tuff opens his eyes. He glances over at Astrid, and she knows he’s probably going to suggest heading back before it gets too dark, but then he starts when Astrid is already looking at him. She doesn’t look away, she’s been clearly caught out, and Tuff flushes under the attention. He leans in, and Astrid does too, gravitating together. 

And then, he kisses her.

When Astrid imagined this moment, and she’s been imagining it a lot, it was always her that leant in first. Perhaps it was self importance, or the way she imagined Tuff would look up at her through his eyelashes, the way he always seeks her out for protection. As many ways as she has imagined it, here at the falls, in a guard tower, picking berries in the forest, on the threshold of her doorway, she had closed the gap and he’d gasped and… 

Tuff pulls away, flushing, awkward, shifting. Astrid touches her mouth, fingers against her bottom lip. He flushes even more, hands fiddling with the hem of his tunic. Astrid had been so caught up in thinking, she’d just sat there.

“Oh.” He says, looking away, down at the edge of his tunic. “I’m sorry, I thought we were having a moment.” 

“We were.” Astrid says, reaching over to curl her palm over the curve of his neck and pull him back into a second kiss. 

Now,  _ this?  _ This is a hobby Astrid could get behind. 

  
  



End file.
